--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2009. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------
**********************************
Erectile dysfunction can be a real problem at an orgy. (MMF, bi, oral, orgy)
**********************************
My wife and I had a big fight last month. We'd fought about the same things before, but this time it changed my life forever. I was on her again about spending too much money. She was mad at me for working long hours and not being interested in sex when I got home. We were both right. She was spending more than I made and running up the charge card. I was wrung out and cranky and managed to work up some enthusiasm for sex about only once a month or so. We'd been married a little over a year, and neither one of us was enjoying it much.
Anyway, we fought more than usual that night, and I just needed some air. Driving around, I spotted a bar on the edge of town and went in for a drink or two. That's all I wanted: a couple of drinks. I was not looking for sex. I was almost never looking for sex.
Even before I walked into the bar - when I saw all the motorcycles in the parking lot -- I could sense that it was not the kind of place where a well-dressed young guy (I was 23) was going to fit in. Every other customer in the place - and there seemed to be 10 or 12 in the small tavern -- was dressed like he belonged to some sort of motorcycle gang.
They all looked to be in their 30's and 40's. Actually, there were one or two women there, too, but they were clearly with the guys, and weren't any younger, or cleaner. These were big, chunky guys, too. Some of them looked pretty fat, and others were hard muscled and bulked up like weightlifters. I'm only five foot seven and weigh 125 dripping wet, little of it muscle. There wasn't a man in the place under five ten, and they were all 200 pounds at least.
At the same time, while I was obviously out of place, I had no reason to feel uncomfortable. I mean, I didn't get any menacing glares or anything. In fact, everybody pretty much ignored me for quite a while. Once in a while I thought I sensed that people were talking about me, but that was probably just my imagination. I did seem to be getting looked at a lot, but again there were no menacing stares or anything. It was almost like they'd never seen anyone clean and well-dressed before! Or, I smiled to my own joke, thin.
The bartender was an older black man of about 60. He kept pouring me drinks and didn't say much. I was on my third drink and beginning to really relax when Ray - the name was embroidered on his jacket - sat next to me and asked how I was doing. He seemed friendly at first, so I chatted with him for a few minutes. By then I was starting to get a strange vibration off of him, like he was talking with me as sort of a joke or something.
Maybe his friends had dared him to come? Too many other people were watching us quietly for the scene to be 100% normal. I began to suspect that he was jerking my chain, and started to watch my words a little bit. I wasn't sure if he was setting me up for a joke, or playing with my mind, but I felt awkward.
Unfortunately, the way I handled my discomfort was to drink more than I should have. Within another 20 minutes or so, during which a friend of Ray's sat down with us, I was working on drink #6 and getting a bit buzzed.
Ray and Pete announced that one of the women was going to "pull a train" in the back room, and would I like to watch? I really, really, didn't want to say the wrong thing, but watching some skanky broad get gang-banged on a pool table was both revolting and appealing at the same time.
What was the right answer? Was I supposed to say thanks but no thanks, and get out of their club now? Or was I supposed to be "one of the guys?" The whole scene still seemed not real, and the way Ray and Pete exchanged glances with each other while chatting with me had me feeling like some sort of insect under a magnifying glass. These two guys were studying me much harder than made sense.
Pete put his left arm around my shoulders, leaned in close, and said "don't worry, Cherry-boy; she doesn't bite." He laughed a little and said that I could watch Delores get fucked by the whole group, or leave in the middle. "Hang loose, man...." I wasn't wild about being taunted with the nickname he'd hung on me, but I wasn't sure what to do about it.
"Yeah, man," said Ray. "Come on back and watch some hard fuckin'!" Ray put his right hand on my left thigh and gave me a friendly squeeze.
What was the matter with me? These guys couldn't have been friendlier, and I was getting all tense and tight-assed. I reached for another drink as I got up from the bar and went into the back room with Ray and Pete.
Everyone else was already there. The room had couches along two walls, a pool table in the middle, and even dimmer lighting than the main bar. As my eyes adjusted I saw both women had taken their jackets and t-shirts off and were bare-chested next to the table, kissing each other feverishly. I had no idea which one was Delores. All of the guys in the room except Ray and Pete and I had fired up a joint. Ray lit one up for himself and somebody I didn't know handed joints to Pete and me.